Gone like yesterday.

Posted on 2014.11.02 at 19:23

Last week Hawaii got a bloody nose. A very mildly bloody nose - thin trickle, stopped nearly immediately - but still freaky to her. Then she got a scab, which tugged weird if she touched her nose. Then the scab became enmeshed in a big booger, which is when we had our showdown. I wanted the booger, bulging out of her nose, gone like yesterday. Hawaii swore it was the scab and it would hurt and bleed again.

First I thought, "Heebie, it's Hawaii's body. She gets to control her body." But then I realized: nope. Too gross. I told her (three days post-nosebleed) that if the booger wasn't gone by dinner time, I was yanking it out. (It was very loose-tooth-reminiscent.) And that was that, she got it out. The end, and good for Hawaii.

(you get no photo.)

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There is a show called Paw Patrol, which Hokey Pokey loves very much. "No, it's called Paw Patrol," I found myself pointlessly saying, "Paw as in puppy paws, and patrol as in a cop beat."

"No, it's called Pop a Troll," he countered, "Pop is another word for pup, and they catch bad guys. Pop a Troll." He won by attrition. Anyway, I find it imminently satisfying when two phrases are said the same - see my eternal substitution of Snoopies for snow peas.

Poor cricket died inside the gas pump register, spread open on his back like a taxonomist had his way. We can only assume he'll be there forever.

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My sabbatical got unexpectedly more satisfying. I showed up to fake my way through yet another meeting - "Here is how much I understand, and here is how much I don't" - which isn't faking it, exactly, except that it's consistently misheard by L. as "I have a great grasp of the material and you should talk really fast for an hour." Then I record what he says, go home, listen and try to grasp it all, and show up the next week with questions.

Finally L. acknowledged that this is not exactly a productive sabbatical - I should be doing something new, not perpetually scrambling to catch up, or as he put it, "walking three paces behind, nodding and saying yes, yes, yes." Which is actually a generous description.

As a full-fledged adult, I should actually be capable of finding my own research problems, but anything I can come up with would be too frankly babyish and uninteresting to hold L.'s attention. This is basically why all my attempts at the beginning of the semester fizzled out - my ideas just sounded unappealing to L. (Of course, this is a terrible way for an advisor to behave. If a student hands you a shitty idea, you say something appreciative and try to salvage it with the student, any way you can. Nudge them on how to develop it, and let them struggle to come up with something better, built out of their own nugget.) The point being: I'm not capable of finding my own research problem that is up to L.'s standards.

Last week, we acknowledged the futility of my eternally catching up, and I performed my best trick - let the silence grow and become uncomfortable. (You should always do this trick, when you want something from someone. Customer service representative? Let the silence stretch. Break all social norms on dead space. Someone with information you need? Just be quiet with a pleasant, expectant expression on your face. Let them squirm. Be one with eternity.)

With L, it is actually not manipulative at all, because he most likely that doesn't notice, and just gets buried in his own thoughts. But finally, he spoke, and had a fully formed new idea for me to explore. Oh thank god.

Coming up with ideas off the top of your head is a neat trick. I can do this for undergraduate research, so it's not a crazy trick, but god am I glad that he just finally coughed up a problem for me to work on. And that is why I'm enjoying myself - I have a new problem to work on.

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We carved pumpkins for Halloween. (Not me. I probably took a nap.)

1. Hawaii named her's Priy, pronounced "pry", and actually did all the carving herself. Below the face, she actually carved the letters P-R-I-Y.

2. Pokey wanted a messy face, so he drew some squiggles on the cheeks, and Jammies kind of carved them out.

3. Ace drew on hers with markers.

4. Jammies carved his with a power drill in all of twenty seconds, so done with the project was he, by that point.

A lesser parent would dutifully post pictures of each of these pumpkins, but I am not that dedicated to duty. Plus I don't have them convenient.

They rotted extra-quick in the unusually warm October air. They molded over, and swarmed with gnats, and stunk. We threw them out. They lasted three days, not even to Halloween.

Jammies' minimalist pumpkin. Legitimately gross! Those eyes are black with rot. The gnats are super-swarmy. Eventually they collapsed in on themselves and we euthanized them.

On Halloween itself, I poked some fake fingers through a t-shirt and put on some fake blood. (Not my real costume, just my Crossfit costume.)

Hokey Pokey started crying when he saw me. "I don't like it," he wept, "I don't like it." I showed him it was fake and lifted up the shirt, but he still wouldn't come close. I felt kind of awful.

At Xfit, everyone (predictably) swooned and loved my costume. They're young college kids, and obviously old pregnant mom is too stodgy to do something like this, and I played them like a fiddle.

For Halloween proper, Hawaii was Brave Merida, Pokey was a teenage mutant ninja turtle, and Ace was Elmo:

Oh kids, you are cute.

For Halloween proper, I was the Bee Girl, from the weenie group Blind Melon twenty years ago:

All I can say is that my life was pretty plain, until I got knocked up.

Jammies' costume was Given Up. He wore a sign around his neck that said so, and was adorned by kid and baby crap, and generally looked beaten down by life. A photo would be nice, Heebie! Maybe later, when I acquire one.

I suppose I've given up all pretense of anonymity over this past year, and am just recklessly posting photos of myself now. A few things have changed over the years: one, I'm tenured. Two, pre-Facebook, the narcissism of blogs was looked at like a minor perversion. But now all sorts of shlubs are over-sharing, and it has become normalized. Being caught isn't quite as terrifying as it used to be, largely because I doubt anyone would care much now.

(I don't want to be caught. My main concern is that knowing my audience in real life would make it harder to write freely. I do not feel very free on Facebook. But if I were, the world would not end.)

How much longer will you be pregnant, Heebie?Two more weeks.Two more weeks.Two more weeks.

Today is the very last weekend day when I have to parent, pregnant, without extra grandparents around. Next weekend, Jammies (poor bastard) will take the kids to Kansas. By the following weekend, at least one grandparent should be in town to help out.

And then we can sit around and stare at me expectantly for days, while I lumber around, all eyes waiting until I produce a baby. I love that part.